


On the Old Bridge

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, First Times, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 07:43:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who is Jim Ellison, and why is he the way he is? Lisa Perkins, Detective, finds out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Old Bridge

## On the Old Bridge

by Persephone

I don't believe people should have owners. The same goes for fictional characters.

No beta, not my native language, feedback welcome - c'mon, how am I supposed to improve without you tearing my stories apart?

I love stories told from a third person's POV. It lets me write different opinions on things, and it lets me avoid situations I don't want to write. I'm afraid I like this perspective so much that I've slid into Mary-Sueish territory. You Have Been Warned.

* * *

*It's been years since I've heard from you last Just every now and then a message from far away You're very busy now, no time for the past And there's no room for me in the life you live today.* 

I didn't really pay attention to him, in the beggining. 

I mean, sure, I was a bit curious about the new guy. Transferred from Cascade, no appearant reason, near-perfect closure record... Jim Ellison was like a bit of a legend, at first. 

I missed the wave of gossip that came with him, since I had the flu the week he came over. I came to the bullpen one day, still sneezing occasionally, and there was someone sitting in old Kady's desk. 

To tell the truth, I resented it a bit at first. Kady was great, one of the best partners I've had the privilage to work with, but it was her time to retire. No sense in shunning new blood just because I missed the old witch. So I stepped to Kady's desk - no, Ellison's desk now - and introduced myself. 

"Hi," I said brightly, "I'm Lisa Perkins. You're Jim Ellison, right?" 

Ellison jumped a bit when I talked to him, and turned to look at me. I swear to god, he turned so white I thought he was about to faint. 

"Detective Ellison?" I asked, frowning. 

He sighed. "Yeah, that's me." He raised his eyes. The look he gave me was so intense, he probably could have told me what I had for breakfast. He had nice eyes, though; I'm a sucker for men with blue eyes. The rest wasn't bad, either. I guessed he was in his late thirties, maybe forty years old. A year, maybe two years older than me. 

"So," I said nervously, "I guess we're partners, huh? My old partner's retired two weeks ago, and--" 

"Let me get this straight for you," he said, quietly. "I work alone. No partners. I don't care how good you think you are, I'm not your partner." 

I considered getting mad, but I let it go. Plenty of assholes in the world; no need to pay attention to each seperate one. 

Still, he didn't really seem like such an asshole when I watched him from the safety of my desk. Quiet. Never talking about anything other than work, not even to discuss baseball scores with the other guys. He was never outright rude to anyone but me. At first, I thought he was one of these pigs who thought women shouldn't be cops, but he treated the other female detectives just the same. Guess he had a thing with me in particular. 

And he did have a thing with me. When he couldn't just ignore me, he snarled at me. Get out of his way. What was taking me so long. Who the hell did I think I was. 

Eventually, I was fed up with it. I stood in front of his desk, and refused to move until he raised his head to look at me. "You want something, Perkins?" 

"Yeah," I told him. "I want you to stop treating me like shit. I don't know what I did to piss you off so much, but I sure as hell didn't sign on as your privet chew toy." 

He rubbed his head. When he looked up at me, there was no anger in his expression. Just tiredness. "Look, this isn't really your fault. You just.." He shook his head. "Just do us both a favor and stay away from me, alright? I'm sorry you got stuck with it, but I can't change it any more than you can." 

I wanted to shout at him, to tell him that if he stopped being such a jerk things would change just fine, but something stopped me. For some reason, he _did_ look like there was nothing he could do to keep from exploding on me. 

We went on with a truce for a while, me staying out of his way and him shutting up when I couldn't help it. It wasn't easy for him, either; I saw the stress in his eyes, in his jaw. 

It didn't last long. After a few weeks, we got stuck with a stake out. Both of us, trapped in a car for four hours. I tried to swap with someone else, but all I got was sympathy. No one wanted to work with Ellison. Pretty much everyone considered him creepy. 

"He never says anything," as Jerry Court from Homicide put it. "Just sits there and stares, not even moving until you say something. Sometimes, not even then. It's like he's in a coma unless he has to chase someone." 

I nodded grimly. I worried more about getting my neck broken by a snarling Ellison than about getting creeped out, but the detectives of Seattle PD seemed oblivious to my problems. Well, fuck'em. They're the ones who'll have to find my body when Ellison's done with me. 

At first, it wasn't really bad. Ellison just sat there, knuckles clenched until they turned white, and I tried not to quirm too much. But every passing moment made the air thicker and thicker, until I knew someone had to get out, fast, before something broke. 

I cleared my throat. "Ellison--" 

He turned to look at me. If I thought he'd looked at me intensely before, I didn't know anything. I was scared for a minute that my face will melt under those eyes. Then he shifted his gaze, examining every inch of me more thoroughly than any doctor ever had. I was memerised. 

When he moved, it was as slow and inevitable as continents shifting. I couldn't move as he reached for my face, touching me with more gentleness than I knew was possible. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, there was a strange look on Ellison's face, a mixture of fear and lust I've never seen on a man over sixteen. 

When he kissed me, I thought I'd scream with the intensity. As things were, I groaned into his throat. When he let go of me, I panted, "Ellison--" 

"Jim," he corrected me. 

"Jim." I swallowed. "What-- where did this come from?" 

I saw his face slip back into flawless granite, and grabbed his shoulders. "Don't you dare, damn you! What's going on?" 

"I-- I'm sorry." He closed his mouth, and turned away from me. 

I took a deep breath, and tried for a new approach. "Look," I said as gently as I could. "I won't freak out or anything. I figured out you're human, no matter what the guys at the station think. You can tell me." 

He was still looking away from me, but his shoulders moved fractionally, and I knew I've won."You," he said, nearly inaudiably, "you remind me of someone. The first time I saw you..." he shuddered. "I thought I was seeing things." He turned his head slowly, but not enough that I could see his eyes. "I'm sorry I was such a shit. It was the only way, or I would've--" his voice stilled. "If you want, you can go home now. I've got things down." 

Offering me an out. How very nice of him. NOT. 

"You can forget about it," I said. "I'm staying here till you give me the rest of the story. This person..." I hesitated. "Were you.. like, a couple?" 

He shook his head. "Just friends. Best friends," he corrected himself. "Partners." 

Well, that explains the 'I work alone' routine. "And what happened?" I prodded gently. 

He laughed sharply. "Everything." He shook his head. "Look, I don't know why I'm bothering you with this shit. Just forget it." 

I hesitated, but I let it go. He was growing more and more tense every minute, and I thought it was best not to scare him off just when I was starting to figure it out. 

Figure it out? What am I, his therapist? 

Well, if I didn't want to figure people out, what was I doing as a detective? Plus, it might make things easier at work. 

What do you know, it did. Ellison seemed less strung when I was around. Probably, since he already did what he thought of as the worst, he could let himself calm down. At least he'd figured I wouldn't be freaked. 

Things pretty much stayed like that until Ellison went and got himself thrown from a building. 

It wasn't a very tall building, really, hardly a problem for a trained proffessional like Jim Ellison, which was pretty much what he'd grunted at the doctor who wanted him to spend the night in the hospital. 

I might add that Jim Ellison can snarl just as well as any healthy cop even when lying in a hospital bed with a slight concussion and a million bruises. 

I was there because, of the officers who were there when Ellison decided to go sky diving all of the sudden, I was the only one soft enough to stay there and help him wheel himself to the entrance. All the other cops had split on some lame excuse or other, and again I was stuck with Ellison the Mighty. 

I should have thought about the track record we have with cars before I agreed. 

You can add kissing to the list of things Ellison can do damned well while concussed. 

We kind of stumbled up to his apartment, in an ancient, elevatorless building, and he just barely remembered where he kept his keys, and we nearly tripped on my shoe as we struggled into bed, but otherwise, it was damned good. 

When he came, he cried out, and it wasn't my name. 

Afterwards, he was.. solicitous. Asked me if I wanted to stay, offered me a cup of coffee. I planned on getting out of there, going home, but I stayed. When he wrapped his arms around me, I didn't ask him who he was thinking about. 

A week passed, and I found myself in his apartment again. He was slower this time, more gentle, and didn't make any sound at all until he was finished. And again, he called the same name. 

And so things came to be. We slept together, with me in his bed and another in his mind. I learned to notice things about him, like the way his head ached when it was too noisy or the way his nose would wrinkle in disgust whenever I wore perfume. He learned not to talk to me when I was reading, and not to play with my hair. I was a bit sorry about that; he obviously loved it, but the fact remains that I can't stand it when people touch my head. 

I don't really know why I was doing it. Some of it was because I'm too irresponsible for pets and don't have the energy that most relationships take. Jim Ellison was alive, warm and kind, once you got to know him. If pining for the long lost love of his life was what he wanted, well, it was his business. 

Which doesn't really explain why one night, I turned to him and asked, "What happened to her?" 

At that point, I was already sleeping with him most nights. I had a tooth brush in his house. Which meant I'd stayed there, sometimes, even if my mood was one that made me rather be alone. Jim was becoming.. a habit, I guess. 

He tilted his head, looking confused. "Her?" 

"Your partner. The one who left you. Blair," I said with a trace of bitterness. 

His jaw twitched. "I don't remember inviting you to pick into my history." 

"Tough. Why did she?" 

He rose. "None of your business." 

I gave him an impassioned look. "I think if you bring her into bed with me, she's my business." 

His eyes were on me again, but they were so cold I barely supressed a shiver. "No, it isn't. And by the way," he added, turning his back on me and heading to the kitchen, "Blair's a he, not a she." 

It took me a few seconds to remember to close my mouth. 

"Well," I continued once I've recovered, "why did he leave you, then?" 

I didn't get an answer that moment. But later, in the darkness of Jim's bedroom, I heard him whisper, "I don't know why he left. But I can guess." And I could feel a thousand dead words creep from between the shadows. 

After that, I snooped a bit in Jim's file. His first years as a cop weren't that special; a high solve rate, but that made sense. Jim was a damned good cop. I knew that much from observation. 

Later, though, I started noticing things. Little things. Like the fact that all of the sudden, his reports turned a lot more eloquent. I've seen the way Jim wrote, and that wasn't him. 

No mention of a partner, though; officially, Jim had worked alone for years before he came to Seattle. It confused me until I ran across the old observer ID in Jim's desk drawer. 

Blair Sandburg. In the picture, he didn't really look all that much like me. The hair was the same, brown curls that I suspected had taken much more attention than I spent on my own hair. Same eye color, though the shape was different; mine had a bit of an upward turn that I'd gotten from my mother. The nose was completely different, as well as the eyebrows. Not much resemblence in the general bone structure, either. 

Of course, there _was_ the fact that he was male. 

There were a few other things in Jim's desk. Newspaper articles about criminals Jim caught. No mention of a partner, or of a police observer, but in each and every picture was a young, curly haired man. Then, a picture of Blair Sandburg standing in front a whole lot of news reporters, the title screaming 'Fraud?!' 

That article I read. Appearnatly, Sandburg had sold Jim out as some superhero, than backed out on himself. Made me want to shake my head in wonder; Jim Ellison hadn't struck me as stupid. Why was he still so obsessed with the guy who did this to him? 

The day after that, Jim came to me and told me, business like, that his privet property was his own. If I invaded his privecy again, we'd have a problem. He didn't ask me to come home with him that night, or any other night that week. 

Which was alright with me. I was a grown up; I didn't have to go around fixing Sandburg's mess. If Jim wanted to stay miserable because of that traitor of a partner of his, he could choke on it for all I cared. 

But when twelve nights later, Jim showed up at my place uninvited, I let him in. 

"What are you doing here?" I asked him. 

"What's that?" He gestured at the mess on my living room table. Avoiding the question. 

"Photo albums," I answered. "I'm getting them in order." I really didn't have anything better to do, these days. 

"Oh." Jim moved closer to the table, and picked up a few random photographs. "Who's that?" 

"My dad." 

"You look a lot like him," he said tentatively. I shrugged in response. 

He went through the photos, pausing as he got to one I ripped to half an eternity ago. My dad, with his hand around someone who wasn't in the picture anymore. "What happened to this one?" 

I remained quiet. 

He sighed. "Look, you already know a lot more about me than most people would care to. Is it really such a big deal to tell me a bit about yourself?" 

"Didn't think you cared," I said with a thin smile. 

He tilted his head, his face blank. "Just curious, I guess. Never mind." 

I closed my eyes. "It's my dad and his girlfriend. His ex-girlfriend," I added with some bitterness. 

He blinked, but said nothing. 

"My parents broke up when I was six. My dad cheated on my mom with some slut half his age," I continued, not without some effort. "I hated his guts for a few months, but when his _girlfriend_ ," I sneered the last word, "broke up with him, he was so upset..." I shrugged. "It was hard to stay mad at him. I haven't thought about that bitch in years, really." 

Jim remained silent, but there was sympathy in his eyes. 

He stayed that night - the first time he'd slept at my place - and I went home with him the next night. When we had sex, it was... different. None of the wild passion he had for me at first, but... a search for comfort, really. Two lonely people who had nothing better than each other. I didn't ask him about Blair again, and I wasn't angry when he shouted his name in bed. It saddened me a bit, though, that Jim was so hung up on the little asshole. It reminded me painfully of the way my dad acted after that bitch left him. 

I wasn't prepared in the slightest when Jim put a little box on the kitchen table and disappeared. I approached it with a sense of dread. Jim hated it when someone broke into his privecy, as I've known from experience, but still. He'd obviously left it here for me to look at. 

There wasn't much in it. A braid of brown hair, much like mine. A few plaid flannel shirts. Underneath those, I found a white paper sheet, probably torn from a notebook, covered in tiny, spidery writing. Curious, I read it. 

'Jim, 

'I really don't think this is the best way to tell you, but I guess I'm a coward. I knew if you wanted to, you wouldn't have any trouble at all talking me out of this. And if you didn't want to... well, I'm not sure I want to stick around for that. I mean, I can sense I've outstayed my welcome, but I don't want to _know_ it. 

'The thing is, I don't think I can be a cop. Even if I could, it's a rotten idea; I don't want you and Simon to take on that much heat for something that doesn't have so many chances of working anyhow. You know me and guns. 

'Another thing is, I can't go on living with you, or spending time with you. The best thing that could come out of it is that people would think I'm paying you rent with my body, if you catch my drift. I don't have to tell you what happens to gay cops, do I? Even if you aren't really. And that's the best case scenario; imagine what happens if they figure out you're really a Sentinel. 

'Don't try to look for me. Naomi had more contacts than a CIA agent. I just need some time to process things. Simon and Megan should be able to help you if anything goes wrong with the senses, but if something really bad happens, I'll hear about it and find you. I trust you not to pretend to be sick. 

'As stupid as this may sound after all this stuff, I want you to know that I really do care about you. You're more than my best friend; you're family. I want you to know that I'm sorry, and that I love you. 

'Blair.' 

I blinked stupidly. Sentinel. That was what the papers had called Jim, wasn't it? 

So Blair believed that Jim was a Sentinel. What did that mean? 

Well, for one thing, it meant that he plain out lied at the press conference. It wasn't so difficult for me to think about him as a liar, but it didn't make sense. Why throw away millions of dollars for a lie? 

"It's not a lie," Jim said softly behind me. I jumped; I hadn't heard him come back in. 

"What's not a lie?" I stuttered stupidly. 

"Blair's dissertation. I'm really..." he gestured awkwardly. "What he says. A Sentinel." 

"Oh." I closed my eyes, trying to understand what Jim was saying. I had read The Dissertation; there were copies of it on the Net, for those who knew where to look. I remembered what Sandburg had written about the Sentinel, about his vulnerability to the enviroment, and I thought about the headaches Jim had when something was too loud. 

Blair Sandburg had known who Jim was, what he was, and... 

"He left you," I whispered, horrified. 

Was Sandburg stupid? Or did he simply not give a damn? I had seen what Sandburg's loss did to Jim, and no doubt Sandburg had known about it before hand. 'I'll hear about it and find you.'! What kind of promise is _that_ to leave for someone who depended on you? 

"He left me," Jim confirmed. There was no trace of anger, nothing but sorrow in his voice, and that was what made me explode. 

"How can you be so damned _forgiving_? The little shit made your life a living hell, then he ran off to parts unknown, and you act like he's some fucking saint for putting up with you!" 

Jim laughed unpleasantly. "He _was_ , Lisa. Do you have any idea how many times he nearly died because of me? For me?" 

"Well, I nearly die for people every day. It's _living_ for people that counts, and that's what he couldn't do for you." 

Jim's face tightened in the begining of anger. "He left because of me! Because he wanted to protect me!" 

"Bullshit!" I yelled. "God, how can you even say that? He didn't even give you a choice, didn't even ask you if you _wanted_ to be protected. That has _got_ to be the most patronising thing I've heard anyone do, and you're agreeing with it!" I paused for a breath. "You know, he said it himself. He's a coward." 

Jim met my eyes calmly, at face level. If it weren't for the way his fists clutched, I wouldn't've even known he was upset. "You don't know what you're talking about, Perkins. He's one of the bravest people I've met, and you don't know him from shit. Keep your fucking advice to yourself." 

"Fine." I said that quietly, because I knew if I began to shout again, I wouldn't be able to stop. "It's none of my business." As I turned to walk out, I said to him, "You might try to reconsider who you care about, Jim. I'd hate to see you get hurt by some asshole who didn't deserve you in the first place." 

I might have apologised to him the next day, but he didn't show up at the station. Not the day after that, either. Just when I was starting to think about calling him, maybe coming over, my dad called. 

Like I said, I hadn't thought about his mess with the bitch for years. I've forgotten it when I was a child, and even forgiven him for it later. We've been on pretty good terms for most of my adolesence, and my mom never seemed to have the energy to hate him, so me and my dad are still pretty close. Still, I was worried; his voice sounded pretty urgent on my answering machine. 

"Lisa," he said, smiling feebly at me as I stepped out of the car. "Come in." 

I settled awkwardly in a kitchen chair as my dad worked around the kitchen, making coffee. I notice there were three cups on the counter. "You're having guests?" 

"Ah, not exactly." He gave me another quick, nervous smile. "But there is someone I want you to meet. Ah, here they are," he said as the front door opened. 

I shut my mouth hastily after I noticed who the woman was. No way was I going to let the bitch catch me surprised. It was a bit of a wasted effort, though, as I realized who was the man who followed her. 

The connections arranged themselves in my mind, and I found out that I had yet another reason to hate Blair Sandburg. 

My dead cleared his throat. "Naomi, I'm sure you remember my Lisa. Lisa, this is your half-brother Blair." 

I looked at Sandburg, comparing the pictures I've seen to the real thing. He was thinner than he was in his ID, older. His hair was shorter. He smiled at me, a bright, false smile, and I didn't even bother to pretend being happy to see him. 

"What are they doing here?" I demanded. 

My father glared at me. "Lisa, that is no way to treat your family." 

"Family!" I hissed. "That tramp of yours and that lying bastard of hers!" 

My father's face hardened. "You have no right to make judgements over people." 

I snorted. "Spare me! That boy," I gestured at Sandburg, "declaired himself a liar on national TV. And as for your little slut--" 

"Look," Sandburg said quietly. "I can't stop you from thinking anything about me or my mother. But you can at least keep a bit of courtesy." 

"I don't believe common courtesy extends to people who sell their best friends out and then run," I spat. 

Sandburg's face turned pale, but he remained calm. "I made mistakes. Especially, I made one really big mistake. I payed for it. You're not god, and it's not up to you to judge me." 

I bared my teeth in what might have been called a smile. "Yeah, I can see just how it went along. Things didn't just fix themselves right up after your little show-and-tell for the newspapers, and you split. Is deserting hereditary or something?" 

"You can say what you want about me," Sandburg's voice hardened, "but lay off my mother. She would have been miserable if she tried to tie herself down like that. You can't just judge people without knowing what they're like." 

"The fuck I can't!" I turned to my father. "How can you stand it? I _know_ what you went through when she left you. How can you stand here and _protect_ her?" 

"Lisa," he said gently, "it was a long time ago. Maybe it's time you've forgiven her." 

"Are you all stupid?" I nearly screamed. "You," I pointed at Sandburg, "are just like her! You left him alone, never mind that he needed you, that he hasn't stopped thinking about you for one moment since you've left him! What is it about you? What is it that makes people love you so much they can't see what cowardly bastards you two are?" 

Sandburg's eyes grew huge. "What are you talking about?" he asked faintly. 

I gave him my coldest stare. "I'm talking about Jim Ellison. Forget all about him, did you?" 

Sandburg leaned on the wall, closing his eyes. "Fuck." He opened his eyes again, and I was surprised by the depth of... something... I saw in them. "You know Jim?" 

I nodded. "Enough to know that he's a good man, and that he's been alone for too long." 

"He is," Sandburg said quietly. 

"Well," Naomi Sandburg said, and for the first time since she came into the room I payed attention to her. She was as pale as the wall she was leaning against, and her hands were slightly trembling. I couldn't help feeling slightly sorry for her; she wasn't as young as I remembered her, but she still didn't look like an adult in the flowery dress she wore. "Well," she said again, and looked at me. "You've made yourself clear, Lisa. I hope in the future you won't be so hateful to people who did you no harm, but I can't change your mind if you don't want to be changed. I hope your life will be a nice one." She turned to leave. 

"Naomi!" My father rushed out after her, sparing me hardly a glance on his way out. 

"And so it begins again," I muttered. 

"I'm sorry." I nearly flinched as I heard Sandburg's gentle voice. 

"What are _you_ sorry for?" I snarled. 

He smiled. A tiny, rueful smile, but it was more genuine than the one he gave me at first. "My mother doesn't believe in forcing anyone, including herself. She's hurt more than a few people without meaning to." 

I felt my eyebrows rise. "And you didn't." 

He sighed, and I was surprised again by the-- was it sadness?-- on his face. "If you'll believe me just once, believe this; Jim Ellison is the one person I never, ever, _ever_ wanted to hurt." The slight smile disappeared. "I guess I didn't do it too well." 

"You didn't," I agreed. 

He turned his eyes on me. "I came to look for him, a month ago. He'd moved." 

"Oh, I'm sure you've scourged the earth in your search for him." 

He rubbed his face. "I figured, if he'd wanted me to come back, he'd have left a message or something. It's not like him, to disappear like that, unless he doesn't want to be found." 

I shrugged. "It doesn't mean he didn't _need_ to be found." 

He smiled at me again. "I guess that's true. Will you give me his address?" Please, his eyes added. 

God help me, I don't know what made me do it, but I found myself scribbling Jim's address on a piece of paper. I handed it to Sandburg, whose eyes glittered like a Christmas tree. 

I cursed myself for that all the way back home. Great. Just what Jim needed; someone fucking his life further. Way to help him get over the little bastard, Lisa. 

I was getting worried when he didn't show up at work the next morning. Four days in a row, when Jim hadn't so much as taken a day off his entire time at Seattle PD. 

Shifting nervously as I waited for his door to open, I cursed myself all over again for being a coward. I like to consider guys I sleep with as my friends, at the very least; no reason I can't worry about Jim. But I still felt like an intruder. 

Felt even more like one when Sandburg opened the door. 

He didn't open it much, just a little slit to see who was there. He blinked. "Lisa? What are you doing here?" 

I felt my fists clench. "I should ask you the same thing." 

He fidgeted. "Look..." 

"No," I spat, " _you_ look. You come crawling back here, like, like the parasite you are, trying to feed on him again, and you expect me to just walk away and leave him with you?" 

He tilted his head. "You gave me his address." 

I ignored him and opened the door forcibly, shoving him. I think it was the surprise that got him, because I saw muscles on him earlier, but he moved, and I saw the inside of Jim's apartment. 

There were clothes strewn all over the floor, and I recognized the smell of semen in the air. And in the middle of it all, on that ratty old couch, Jim Ellison was asleep, barely covered by a wool blanket. It wasn't difficult to tell he was naked underneath it. 

For the first time since I've met him, he was smiling. 

Something inside me screamed, but the rest of me was crying. For Jim, who was throwing his life away on that little bastard. For myself, for the fact that I had no one to throw my own life away for, because it's been a long time since I've smiled that way myself. My life was stable and safe, but what were stability and safety worth if they couldn't make me smile like that? 

When I turned back to Sandburg, something changed in the air. I couldn't bring myself to hate him quite as much. "He's going to get hurt again, isn't he?" I asked, not knowing who I was really talking about. 

Sandburg shrugged. "Everybody gets hurt, one way or another. The best we can do is try not to cause any hurting ourselves, and take what we can while we have it." 

I nodded. "Try." 

He smiled at me, an honest, real smile. "I'll do my best." 

Jim moved back to Cascade two weeks later. There were about a million bets going on about what caused the sudden change in his attitude, ranging from an unexpected inheritance to a new wife. I stayed quiet. 

I found out that I was pregnant a month after they left. I'm not sure how it happened; I've been on the pill all along. But nothing is a hunderd percent safe, not ever, and accidents do happen. 

The birth should be about a month from now. I'll invite Jim and Sandburg for a visit, and I'm pretty sure I'll tell them who the father is; at least, I'll tell Sandburg. If the Sentinel thing really is genetic, I'm going to want to stay on his good side. After all, he might be the only expert on my little girl's special abilities. 

I never really wanted a family, but I didn't want to kill my baby once I had her, and I think that I've been alone long enough. I forgave my father for being less than perfect, eventually; I can only try to raise my daughter as best as I can, and hope she forgives me for all the mistakes I'm sure I'll make. 

We all make mistakes. The least we can do is choose the mistakes we make knowingly, and hope for the best. 

I'll try. I'll hope. 

* * *

End On the Old Bridge by Persephone: persefone_il@yahoo.com

Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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